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I'm Back! And In One Piece!
I'm Back! And In One Piece!
In all actuality, the past Memorial Day weekend was rather quite boring. No fireworks, no serious injuries, no sexy stories, nothing.
However, I will bore you with details.
After my usual "3 hours of sleep the night before a big day" ritual, my dear ol' Mom and Dad arrived Friday morning, themselves sleep-deprived after a long night's drive that didn't end until 2 AM. This is where coffee and Krispy Kremes come into play; I don't drink coffee, and I already had my 2 cans of Coke (which came back to haunt me in the form of a restroom stop 30 miles into the trip, irritating my dad), so I was already wired and ready to go.
And I must say, Thank God for XM Radio, arguably the best thing that's happened to music since Nevermind. Any genre of music you want, all kinds of variety, and best of all, no commercials (how Public Radio-ish) and no smarmy announcers. However, thanks to my mother, who has no problems singing (badly) in the car at the drop of a hat, I can no longer listen to "Hips Don't Lie" without mental trauma. God bless my mother, but I'd really wish she wouldn't sing certain songs in the car; otherwise, you'll get awkward moments like the one time she sang "I Touch Myself." I was 16, she was driving me to school, and I was never more humiliated. (And if any song from Meat Loaf's Bat out of Hell comes on, both parents will sing along. That album was "their" record, much like Odelay is "my" record.)
Anyhoo, we arrive in Atlanta in mid-afternoon, and we're greeted by SWELTERING MOTHERFUCKING HUMIDITY. 100+ degree humidity. There's humidity in the mountains of East TN, but it's nowhere near the soup-like wrath you'll get in lower-plains territory like Georgia. (Never mind Florida.) Even worse, my brother, frugal to a degree, wouldn't turn on the AC at first, but Mom laid down the law, and cool, recirculated air won the day. But instead of savoring the breeze, we headed for dinner at a upscale seafood restaurant, which won fame when Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston were arrested inside the restaurant several years ago.
It was at this place that I witnessed my brother's background in restaurant business benefit us yet again. In the seafood place, he successfully conned an innocent teenager to give us a seat in the booth that we weren't signed up for. I have seen him pull stuff like this a lot, and because he has the restaurant knowledge, aided by a gambler's guts and a bold sense of authority, he gets away with it every time. I could never be that bold. He's particuarly good at sweet-talking women out of their panties and into his bed; as much sex as I've had this past year, it wouldn't begin to compare to his sexual conquests.
Saturday was shop, shop, shop till one of us dropped. It never happened, and I got a LOT of early birthday presents: two pairs of sneakers, some much needed loungewear, and a couple of nice shirts. I'm the youngest of the family, so they spoil me. (And I really wish they wouldn't, because I do feel guilty about it. As much as I do appreciate the free stuff and them picking up the check, there are times when I want to grab it and say "I'll pick this up." It'll never happen; they'll never let it.)
Sunday came THE TALK. No, not about my sexual deviances- if only they knew - but rather, me quitting the Public Radio Station, moving to Atlanta and living with my brother while he attempts to get me a job. And I turned it down. I couldn't take it. During the previous night's dinner, my mom talked about how she never gave my brother money when he was broke and hungry, because he had to learn to be self-sufficient. Citing reasons similar to that, I turned down his offer to move in with him, and said I was staying where I live now and just continue to send out those resumes. And while my brother tried to talk me out of it, the hellfire-and-brimstone speech never came. He almost seemed resigned to the fact that I would turn it down, as if he knew it was coming. To be fair, I can understand his arguments, and they make more sense than mine.
But here's the dilemma: I'm not comfortable with the idea of quitting the PRS to move to his house, where I'll be unemployed and working another dead-end job while he uses his connections to land me someplace. I could never live with it. I'll feel like the bum I was always afraid of ending up becoming. I treasure my independence, and if I move in, I'll lose that. And while he continues to put down the PRS, I'd much rather work there, shitty pay and hours and all, then working at a dead-end fast-food joint while he uses his connections. So that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
I came back sometime around 3 PM today (after my mother did her patented "stock up my kitchen" shopping spree at the supermarket), and I've been relaxing and maxing since then.
And that's how I spent my Memorial Day weekend.
We now continue with your usual Big & Tall programming already in progress...
"Today may be the first day of the rest of your life, unless you live on the other side of the International Date Line, then yesterday was the first day of the rest of your life."- Larry Andersen
5/29/2006 11:45 pm
Stick to your guns; I've been there. |
I'd rather be starving than have to keep relying on my parents for my needs. Since my sister doesn't want to live alone, however (and she's still in college, mom pays her rent) it's easier for everyone involved that I live with sis for now. Although I admit I love the Mom-stocked fridge, too.. *blush*